


Angels and Advent Calendars

by DoveFeatheredRaven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Modified Ending, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Post-Finale, SPNAdventCalendar2020, Tumblr Prompt, holiday prompt list, post-episode: s15e20 coda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoveFeatheredRaven/pseuds/DoveFeatheredRaven
Summary: Written for bend-me-shape-me's advent calendar prompt list on tumblr! Enjoy holiday fluff and domesticity so revoltingly sweet, your teeth will rot. Dean/Cas will be the main pairing, but I plan to write for other Supernatural couples as well.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	1. Advent Calendar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [@bend-me-shape-me's](https://bend-me-shape-me.tumblr.com/post/635594995196461056/hello-everyone-a-couple-weeks-ago-i-had-the) advent calendar prompt list on tumblr! Each chapter will be a different prompt, loosely connected chronologically.

“Cas, you know people usually give each other presents on Christmas Day, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s December first.”

“Just open it.”

Castiel pushed the box into Dean’s hands. It was beautifully wrapped in red and green plaid paper, corners tucked in so neatly it looked professionally done. Dean fondly remembered Cas practicing during their first official Christmas together. He’d turned gift-wrapping into an art form in just a few short days.

Leaning back on the couch, Cas regarded him with an undeniably smug air. Dean tore off the wrapping to reveal a sturdy blue box with embossed silver letters, reading: Scotch Whisky Advent Calendar. Beneath the cover flap were twenty-four dram sized bottles of award-winning Scottish whiskies. Dean’s lip curved up in a broad grin. 

“Do you like it?” Cas tilted his head, still wearing that smug little smile.

What a little shit, coming up with the perfect gift. And he knew it too. Dean leaned over and kissed him on the lips, running a hand through his soft, black hair. “God, Cas. This is amazing.” Dean kissed him again, all soft lips and lingering sighs and feeling the rough stubble of his cheek under his thumb. He parted his lips and Dean pressed in, silky, tasting sweet mint on Castiel’s tongue.

Dean had waited so long for this; felt like he could never get enough of Castiel. 

“Guess what?” Dean murmured against Castiel’s mouth.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, Dean.” 

Dean set the box on the coffee table and pushed Cas down until he was leaning back against the armrest of the couch. Cuddling in beside him, half on top of him, Dean kissed Castiel’s jaw, down his neck, and at the hollow at the base of his throat. He slipped a hand under his sweater, tracing fingers across the planes of Cas’s belly. His body was warm and inviting, achingly familiar. 

Just then, the doorbell rang. Dean sighed and buried his face in Cas’s chest. “They’re early.” 

“Are you going to let them in?” Cas asked, stroking Dean’s hair.

Reluctantly, Dean stood up and went to open the door, revealing Eileen, Sam, and their toddler, baby Dean. “Hey guys, come on in,” he said, giving all three of them a hug on their way in the door. He picked up baby Dean and held him in the air, much to the little tyke’s delight. “How’s my little man, huh? Are you excited for Christmas movies?” 

“Yeah!” Baby Dean cheered and giggled, and Dean set him gently on the floor. 

They walked back into the living room, where Cas had moved the alcoholic advent calendar to the end table next to the Christmas tree and was now setting up the DVD player. 

“How are you doing, Dean?” Eileen signed, settling down on the couch next to Sam. 

“Everything’s great here. We took care of a haunting a couple of weeks ago, but other than that, it’s been quiet. How’ve you and Sam been?”

“Good. Dean learned how to ride a tricycle recently, so he’s been a little terror.” 

Sam laughed. “Can’t wait ‘til he starts school.” 

“Yeah, then he’ll be unstoppable,” Eileen signed, looking fondly at her son, who was “helping” Castiel carry in a tray of popcorn and snacks. They set their offerings on the coffee table and passed out small plates. 

Baby Dean sat on the couch with his mom and dad, and Miracle trotted in and jumped up on Eileen’s other side, leaving Dean and Cas to sit in the armchairs off to one side of the couch. 

“So you’ve never seen Rudolf before?” Dean asked, peering intently at his nephew.

“Nope! First time ever!”

“But you know the song, right?” 

Baby Dean started singing, “Rudolf, the red-nosed reindeer,” but it turned out those were the only lyrics he knew. He hummed the rest of the song while Cas turned the subtitles on and pressed play. Dean flicked the living room lights off and scooted his chair closer to Cas so they could hold hands while they watched the movie. Well, everyone else watched the movie. Dean watched Cas.

With dark falling so early in winter, the only illumination came from the golden glow of the Christmas tree lights and the flickering blue and white of the TV screen. Dean loved the way Cas’s eyes changed color in the changing light, from black to clearest blue. He traced his thumb over the back of Cas’s hand, utterly content, grateful he could be together during the holidays with the love of his life and his family.

When the movie ended, baby Dean declared it a rousing success and repeated many of his favorite lines. Eileen taught him the signs for “Silver and Gold,” which he learned quickly and turned around immediately to teach it to Sam. 

Dean stood and stretched, back twinging from sitting still for so long. 

“You okay?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, just need my heating pad for a minute. Hey, I’m gonna lie down; Sam, you mind ordering the pizza? We can watch the Grinch after we eat.” 

Sam nodded and went to the kitchen to put in an order for delivery. Eileen took Miracle out to the back yard to throw his ball, leaving baby Dean to once again help Cas clean up their snacks. Dean went upstairs and laid in bed on top of his electric heating pad. The truth was, his back ached something awful. It had never been the same since he’d been thrown onto that piece of rebar, in a vampire hunt years ago. 

He’d almost died in that fight. Luckily, the ambulance had arrived in time and he’d been rushed into emergency surgery, but recovery had been long and painful. His left lats had never regained their full strength, and as a result, he frequently experienced aches and weakness on the left side. Heat usually helped loosen the muscles. 

Cas helped too, those clever fingers kneading away the tension, performing a little angelic miracle to take away Dean’s pain. But he was busy downstairs. 

Dean was just drifting off into a comfortable half-sleep when Sam bellowed from the bottom of the staircase. “DEAN!” 

After a lifetime of conditioning, Dean was on his feet and already downstairs before he was even fully awake. “What happened? Vampires?” 

Eileen was sitting on the couch, baby Dean was on the floor petting Miracle, and Cas was leaning on the mantlepiece hiding his face in his hands. Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

“WhaddIdo?” Dean asked, heart pounding from the adrenaline surge. 

Sam’s growl was furious. “Leaving alcohol out where Dean can reach it?” 

Rapidly, Dean took a mental count of all the alcohol in his house. Most of it was in the liquor cabinet, locked, besides a couple of beers and a bottle of wine in the fridge. Regardless, all of it was too high for baby Dean to reach. Then, Dean realized. “The advent calendar…” 

“Yeah, Dean. That. I turn my back for ten seconds and my son is drinking whisky.” Sam held up the little dram, half-empty now of its amber liquid. 

“Well,” Dean chuckled nervously, “takes after his uncle, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ, Dean. He’s three!” 

Cas stepped over, and if his wings were visible, Dean knew they would be drooping. “Sam, it’s my fault, I didn’t put it away well enough.”

“Toddlers get into everything! Everything.” Sam gazed into the distance, evidently experiencing war flashbacks, before snapping back to Cas. “You’re supposed to be an angel, and you can’t watch him for a minute?” 

“Our baby is fine,” Eileen signed and then ruffled baby Dean’s hair. “Besides, he will be really popular in high school when he can tell his friends he had his first drink when he was three.” 

“Oh my God,” Sam signed back, looking apoplectic. 

There was a merry sparkle in Eileen’s eye, and Sam crossed over to help her have an impromptu conversation about the dangers of alcohol with his toddler. 

“Sorry,” Dean signed sheepishly, fist to heart.

Sam just rolled his eyes. “Pizza’ll be here in fifteen. Please, put your booze away.” 

Picking up the advent calendar, Dean went into the kitchen to put it away in the liquor cabinet. What a little legend, that kid. Dean vowed to teach him how to drink whisky eventually, though not until he was twenty-one. 

Cas followed him into the kitchen, close on his heels. “Dean, I am so sorry,” he said, cheeks flushed. “I truly didn’t think-”

“Babe, no harm done.”

Cas deflated against the counter. “Sam will never talk to me again.” 

Locking the cabinet, making sure to double-check, Dean leaned over Cas, pinning him to the counter with his arms on either side of his waist. “He’ll come around. You’re just too… irresistible.” He kissed Cas gently. And again. And again. 

“Dean?”

“Mm?” 

“There might be one good thing to come of this.”

“Yeah?” 

“We won’t make that mistake if we ever have kids.” 

Dean pulled back to look Cas in the face. His eyes were soft, and his lip twitched, as if unsure whether to smile or not. “God, Cas, what did I do to deserve you?” He hugged his angel tight, and Cas rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. “You want to have kids?” 

“I would like that very much, if that’s what you want too.” 

“Yes.” Dean kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, Cas. Let’s adopt a kid. Can we go now?” 

Cas chuckled, returning Dean’s kisses. “We still have to figure out the logistics. Work, hunting…” 

“Details,” Dean shrugged. “I love you so much, Cas.”

Castiel’s kiss told Dean everything he needed to know.


	2. Childhood Memories

One of his favorite memories was putting the angel on the top of the tree. While he was still small enough, his dad would pick him up so he could reach the very top, and together, they would recite one of Jimmy’s favorite verses: 

_“The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for see, I bring you good news of great joy which will be to all the people. For there is born to you, this day, in the city of David, a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”_

After, he would look up at the little angel, illuminated by the Christmas tree lights, and imagine the hope they must have brought with their proclamation. The Savior! It was all so wonderful, so inspiring. Jimmy felt blessed that God and the angels were watching out for him, literally, from the top of the tree. 

They went to church in the morning on Christmas Eve, and the pastor talked about service, doing God’s work, a task which seemed monumental to Jimmy. What could he do, as a kid, to make the world better? How could he know what was God’s will? He talked to his dad about his concerns once, but he just said to be good and pray every day. Jimmy didn’t see how that was any different than what he was going to do anyway.

His mom was a little more helpful on the subject. She framed God’s work as “selfless acts in service to others,” which Jimmy understood to be something like sharing. Well, he knew how to share! When Jimmy put out milk and cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve, he thought privately that an angel could have some too if one happened to stop by. He didn’t know if angels ate cookies, but he offered anyway. It was the selfless thing to do.

Christmas Day dawned, as it always did, and Jimmy would rush out to the living room to see if Santa had arrived with presents, but his greatest happiness came when he saw the cookies had been eaten, and knew that he had been able to give a little gift back. Every hardworking hero (angel or not) deserved a delicious, frosted, Christmas cookie. 

Jimmy was of the mind that Christmas decorations looked best when they were left up year-round, but his parents always made him take everything down after New Year’s. The ornaments were put away, the lights were wrapped up, and finally, Jimmy’s dad lifted him all the way up once again so he could reach the angel. He cushioned it carefully in tissue paper and set it back in its box, not to be opened again until next Christmas.

Eventually, Jimmy became too big for his dad to lift, and too short to reach the top of the tree, so he stopped putting the angel up. In fact, he forgot about it. The little cardboard box sat in the back of the closet for years, and other favorites took its place. There was a baseball glove that he got when he joined the team in junior high, and a personalized photo ornament of Jimmy and his first girlfriend (which somehow found its way into the bin after they broke up), and a little figurine of his college mascot that his mom gave him when he graduated.

The box was covered in a thick layer of dust when he found it again. He and Amelia had finally put their down payment on a house, and Jimmy went home to collect the childhood things that hadn’t fit in their apartment. Brushing the dust off, he opened the box and smiled at the little angel inside.

Moving was a chaotic affair, but they got settled in right in time for the holiday season. During their very first Christmas in their new home, Jimmy lifted Claire all the way up to the top of the tree so she could put the angel back in its place, where it remained, watching over them, until it was finally time to rest.


	3. Christmas Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a couple of days behind, but I'm still working on it, lol. Enjoy!

When Dean got back from his jog on Sunday morning, Cas was making breakfast in the kitchen. He shed his coat and gloves and went in to say good morning, wrapping his arms around Cas, who was scrambling eggs in a pan.

“You’re sweaty,” Cas said, making a disgruntled noise in his throat. 

He kissed Cas’s shoulder. “And how does that make you feel?” 

“You are a corrupting influence.” Cas’s voice was stern, but he relaxed into Dean’s arms for a moment. “Now go shower before I burn these eggs.” 

Dean loped out of the kitchen and upstairs, where he chucked his phone on his bed before getting ready for the day. It slid off the other side of the bed, and by the time he went back down to eat with Cas, he had forgotten about it. 

If only he had bothered to retrieve it, but the past could not be changed, even in the face of future torment.

He kissed Cas goodbye and headed to work.

Dean had established his auto shop not too long after the end of the world had been averted. What with the difficulty of job searching with no resume, he had found it easier to start his own business, instead. The benefits of setting his own hours were numerous; he could pick up a hunt every once in a while maintaining a steady income.

The sign out front read “Singer’s Auto Repair,” a tribute to Bobby which often raised questions when new clients found out that the owner was actually named Winchester. Dean rarely bothered to explain. Nosy suburbanites with their creaky Toyota Corollas did not need insight into Dean’s past. 

Still, the first difficult white lady of the day burst in through the doors, almost knocking the bell off its hook, and demanded to see ‘Mr. Singer.’ Somehow, Dean eventually gathered from her irate exposition, it was his fault that her tire had popped while driving her children to their Sunday morning golf lesson, and she demanded that ‘Mr. Singer’ compensate her for the towing fee. 

Dean didn’t recognize her and had half a mind to throw her out, but it was still early in the day. He’d humor her for a minute, if only for the satisfaction of watching her face turn red when he revealed that he was the owner.

The towing company had dropped off the car in the lot in front of his shop, and he went out to examine it. The weathered old Ford minivan showed clear signs of disrepair; the wheel wells were half-eaten by rust, the rear bumper was zip-tied on one side, and the headlights were so foggy Dean was doubtful that she could drive safely at night. 

“You need to get these cleaned or replaced,” he said, thinking about the two bored kids sitting in the back of the minivan. 

That had been the wrong thing to say. The lady went off about how ‘Mr. Singer’ never did a proper safety inspection the last time she brought her car in, and anyway, the problem was the one exploded tire, not the lights, _genius,_ and how she could have died if the tire popped on the highway so she was of a mind to hold ‘Mr. Singer’ liable for emotional distress. The kids in the backseat gave Dean an embarrassed look, and he smiled faintly at them. 

Dean had a hunch that she had never visited his shop before, and when he checked out her tires, he knew for sure. The tread was completely worn in patches following a diagonal pattern, and in certain spots the underlying steel tire belt was visible. Dean would never have let her drive off the lot with those tires. 

“Alright, you need four new tires and a wheel alignment. I can check and see if I have any available for your car, but I might need to order ‘em in. You’ll need to leave your car here until then, but uh… I won’t charge you for parking,” he added because he knew it would piss her off. 

“You need to fix this now!” she screeched. 

Dean only half-listened to the rest of her tirade about ‘Mr. Singer’s’ negligence, and wished that he’d had a second cup of Cas’s excellent coffee before he left that morning. 

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he said, letting his voice drop a few notes to get the warning across. “This is my shop, and I know for a fact that I have never seen you here before, so you can stop blaming Mr. Singer, may he rest in peace, for your inability to take care of your car. I can’t let you drive it off my lot because I’m worried you’re going to kill your children, so you can either get it fixed here or get it towed somewhere else.”

Okay, the ‘may he rest in peace’ was a bit theatrical, but it did the job. The lady shut up, though Dean sensed that it was less from shame over her behavior and more from the realization that he wasn’t going to roll over. 

He led her and her kids inside, where he proceeded to order the tires she needed and called her an Uber for good measure. Soon after, she left her keys and contact information in an envelope and (to Dean’s great pleasure) got the hell out of his office. 

After that rocky start, the rest of the day passed much more pleasantly. Dean spent a couple of hours replacing the master cylinder and brake lines on a PT Cruiser, called up the owner, and sent them on their way. 

Then he got to the car he really wanted to work on. 

A few days ago, a teenage girl came in with a car that she’d inherited from her grandfather. It was a 1969 Pontiac GTO Judge, painted in the signature Carousel Red, with a 366 bhp Ram Air III engine, black vinyl bucket seats, and authentic wood paneling on the dash. Dean had nearly cried tears of joy as he’d watched her roll in, and it was his great honor to get this car in working order. 

It had sat in the grandfather’s garage for over a decade, and though the body and the interior were in generally good condition, it needed a tune-up. The lucky new owner had also requested a conversion from the original steering to power steering, and an addition of brake boosters to up the stopping power without compromising the integrity of the original brakes. There was plenty of work for Dean to do. 

When he was done for the day, greasy, knuckles scraped, and exquisitely exhausted, he reached into his pocket for his phone and found that it wasn’t there. He was planning on asking Cas if he wanted him to pick up dinner on the way home, but figured he could just as easily make a second trip. He rinsed his hands of motor oil and road grime, climbed into his beloved Impala, and headed home. 

He was surprised to see Eileen’s car in the driveway, though not particularly concerned. Eileen, Sam, or both visited often to consult on a case, have dinner, or just catch up. 

A burst of snow accompanied him through the front door and he hurriedly shut it against the cold night air. Inside, It was inexplicably loud. Dean froze for a moment, reaching instinctively for a gun he wasn’t carrying before he realized that there was no immediate danger.

There was some sort of chaotic frenzy in the living room; Eileen was shouting and signing rapidly to Cas, who was holding a screaming baby Dean. Cas patted his back, but nothing seemed to soothe the child and he continued to wail in between deep, gulping breaths. Meanwhile, Miracle was barking at Sam, who was standing in the corner… singing. Loudly. And badly. 

“God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…” Sam sang off-key.

Nobody noticed that Dean had arrived until he planted himself in the middle of the living room. Cas and Eileen started talking to him at once, and he could neither hear what they were saying over the cacophony nor understand Eileen’s rapid signing; he wasn’t completely fluent in ASL yet. 

Bewildered, Dean brought them upstairs and into the guest bedroom, leaving Sam and Miracle to continue on downstairs. He shut the door, and the noise was muffled a little. 

“Okay, what the hell?” he asked, taking the still-sobbing baby Dean from Cas and holding him on his hip. 

Once again, Cas and Eileen both tried to talk over each other, and he held up his hand in exasperation. 

“I called you seventeen times,” Eileen said at the same time Cas said, “Misfortune has befallen your brother.” 

Dean blinked. “What’s wrong with Sam?” 

“He was cursed,” Cas said at the same time Eileen said, “He double-crossed the fae.” 

“For God’s sake, guys! Learn how to take turns. So, Sam is cursed? Why was he messing around with fairies anyway?” 

Eileen explained what had happened. Apparently, they had gotten wind of some strange happenings in the nearby town of Spring Park, Kansas. The annual Christmas blue-ribbon baking contest occurred every year on the first weekend in December, and this year, the grand prize had been hotly contested. 

There were rumors of trickery, sabotage, and bribery, fueled by the relative anonymity of the winner. She was an outsider, just moved into town, a wild card in a community center that was populated mainly by bored, middle-aged housewives. And she had stolen their prize.

“I have two questions,” Dean interrupted. Baby Dean was finally quiet, and he was listening intently to the story. “First, why does anyone care who wins a baking competition, and second, why do _you_ care who wins a baking competition?”

Sam’s voice filtered up the staircase. He was singing “Santa Baby,” and sounded utterly miserable about it. 

“She’s getting there, Dean,” Cas said, a hint of mania sparkling in his eye. 

Eileen continued. There was a cash prize attached to the competition; $1000 for the award-winning holiday dessert. The stranger had collected her earnings and all seemed to be well, until that very afternoon, when she checked herself into the county ER for the strangest reason: she couldn’t stop singing. 

The doctors were baffled. She had no neurological deficits, no signs of substance abuse. A battery of psychiatrists determined that she was not suffering from a psychotic episode; her behavior, memory, and reasoning were all intact. She simply couldn’t stop singing. 

Word of her condition quickly spread. The same vindictive old birds who thought she had cheated said she got what she deserved. Others said it was some sort of marketing stunt, though, for what product, no one had an answer. She was even featured on the afternoon radio show and attempted in vain to describe her predicament through song lyrics. 

And that was how Sam came to learn of the strange events of the last two days. The radio show host made an earnest request for listeners to help if they had any information about her condition and then proceeded to keep her on-air for another hour so she could entertain the city with Christmas carols. 

By that time, Eileen and Sam had found an emergency babysitter for Dean and were pulling into town just as the singing lady was unlocking her front door. They managed to track her down and explained who they were, and in her desperation, she did not question the presence of monster hunters in her foyer. 

Through a careful mix of interrogation and unpacking the symbolism of song lyrics, they were able to piece together the events of the preceding week. 

Miriam, as she was known, was new to town and had not made many friends yet. She watched the ladies at the community center and envied their close-knit group; they went to barbeques at each other’s houses, arranged playdates for their kids, and took great pride in organizing monthly events to bring locals together. Miriam wanted in, and she thought that if she won the baking competition, all the ladies would be so impressed that they would invite her into their inner circle. 

The problem was that Miriam wasn’t a very good baker. Her soufflés tended to droop in the middle and her cakes always came out overdone. 

In the days leading up to the contest, she practiced constantly, generating nearly a truck full of ruined desserts, before being overcome by despair. 

Then came an idea, a genius idea to outdo all the others. She had no hope of winning the contest by craft alone, but perhaps she could win by cunning. On Saturday night, she left out a bowl of cream, and in the morning, she found a tiny person, about eight inches tall, taking a nap on a pile of freshly folded kitchen towels. 

The fae introduced himself as Snowflake the Elf, and asked Miriam why she had summoned him. She asked for only one thing; for him to bake her a perfect apple pie that was guaranteed to win the competition. In return, Snowflake would be allowed to select one single item from her home and take it back to Avalon. 

They shook on it, and half an hour before noon, the pie was cooling on the countertop. 

Miriam packed it up and drove to the community center, where her pie was acclaimed by the judges as the best pie they’d had in years. However, as she walked back to her car, clutching her blue ribbon and $1000 check, she heard the other women mutter darkly about cheating. 

No one was bold enough to accuse her to her face, but the joy of winning had been spoiled. She returned home in a foul mood with a half-eaten pie, only to find Snowflake waiting on the kitchen table. He was holding a sock.

Though she realized upon closer inspection, it was not a sock, it was a stocking, and it was her late mother’s Christmas stocking at that. Miriam’s mother had given it to her before she died, and Miriam planned on giving it to her own kids when she had them. 

It was this stocking that Snowflake had chosen as compensation for his work. 

Miriam argued that it was special to her. It had been a family heirloom for a very long time, and it meant a lot to Miriam to see it hanging on the mantle every Christmas. It helped her feel closer to her mother.

As it turned out, Snowflake wanted the stocking for that exact reason. The more love and sentimentality an object holds, the more power it can provide for the fae. 

But Miriam was unwilling to give it up, and she attacked Snowflake with an iron cut-out of Santa that hung from the wall. He vanished and reappeared instantly, good-nature all but gone.

For her rudeness, he placed upon Miriam an evil curse. She would be forced to sing Christmas songs until she learned that naughty people didn’t deserve nice gifts like award-winning pies. 

Dean stared at Eileen incredulously. He’d had very little experience with fairies in his lifetime, but from what he’d seen before, well… a Christmas curse wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. “Okay, so, she won the pie and got cursed earlier today, you guys went to visit this afternoon, and now Sam’s got her curse? How’d that happen?” 

“Sam ate the pie,” Eileen signed.

From downstairs came Sam’s despondent voice, singing the lyrics to “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” Dean laughed. What a dummy. 

“Did you guys try just giving the stocking to the elf?”

Eileen glared at him. “Of course we did. We summoned him, but he wouldn’t take it. He said Miriam hadn’t learned her lesson yet and then cursed Sam because he hadn’t asked first before eating the pie. Then we came over here to see if Cas could undo it, but...”

“Snowflake is stronger than me,” Cas said in a serious tone. 

Rubbing his forehead, Dean sighed. Messing with the fae; Sam should have known better. 

If Cas, with all the power of his angelic grace, couldn’t break the curse, then what could? 

“Well, I suppose only a fae can break a fae curse, so we better call Snowflake back. You two stay up here with Dean Jr., and I’ll go see if I can help Sam.”

He handed baby Dean to Eileen and headed back downstairs, gesturing for Sam to follow him into the kitchen. Riffling through the fridge, he realized he didn’t have any cream… “Think Baileys will work?” he asked Sam, grabbing the bottle out of the liquor cabinet.

“Santa Claus is coming’ to town,” Sam sang, which Dean took as an affirmative. 

He poured the cream substitute into a little porcelain dish. “Um… Snowflake? Hello? We request-” Sam shook his head urgently. “Uh, no, I mean, if you happened to be in the neighborhood, you could have the cream that’s in this bowl.” 

Moments later, a tiny little man in a well-tailored three-piece suit appeared on Dean’s kitchen table. He regarded Sam and Dean with a sour expression. “I’m a very busy man, and these constant interruptions are putting me behind schedule. What do you want?”

“Uncurse my brother, please. And the girl, Miriam, the one you made the pie for this morning.”

Snowflake regarded him with interest. “Why should I? They were both rude to me. You know, in my experience, humans are like dogs. Positive reinforcement only goes so far. When they misbehave, you gotta bring out the choke chain.” 

Sam began to hum “Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy,” and honestly Dean could sort of see Snowflake’s point. None of the people involved in this debacle would make the mistake of being rude to the fae, ever again. 

“Let’s make a deal,” Dean said with a resigned sigh. “Same one you offered Miriam. If you immediately and permanently end the curse on Sam and Miriam, you can take a sentimental object from me.” 

Sam was shaking his head again, but this time Dean ignored him. No object could be worth as much as blessed silence. 

“Alright, but be warned - my patience is wearing thin. Double-cross me, and the next curse will be much more painful.” 

Dean shook Snowflake’s tiny hand, and the deal was made. The elf vanished and Sam stopped singing. He laid his head in his hands and groaned. Seconds later, Snowflake reappeared on the table, clutching an object taller than he was. 

The object Snowflake had picked was a carved bone knife, handle inscribed with an intricate Celtic knot pattern. Deadly sharp, Dean had relied on it in many hunts where the monsters were impervious to iron and steel.

“What is it?” Sam asked. His voice was hoarse from the constant loud singing. 

With a sigh, Dean reached out his hand so he could hold the knife one last time. After a brief hesitation, Snowflake set the handle in his palm. “Dad give it to me one Christmas. I was thirteen, I think, and he had it commissioned from a Pagan hunter. It was infused with some kind of magic, so it will never break, never get dull.”

“A simple fortitude enchantment,” Snowflake said disparagingly. “A baby could do such basic spellwork. But then, the value does not lie in the magic, does it?” 

“Dad didn’t give a lot of gifts, you know?” Dean wasn’t sure if he was explaining to Sam or to Snowflake. “This one was special because it wasn’t just some knife from the sporting goods store. He had this one made especially for me and had it wrapped in nice paper, and when I opened it I felt… I felt like he trusted me. Like he cared. It made saving people feel like a job to be proud of, rather than just something that took dad away from us.” He blew a stream of air from pursed lips. “Anyway. Fair trade, I guess.” 

Snowflake bowed to Dean before disappearing in a snap. His hand closed around empty air.

The knife was gone, as was the Irish cream in the bowl. 

Dean rose to his feet, intending to pour a drink for him and Sam, but he noticed Cas and Eileen leaning surreptitiously in the kitchen doorway. Baby Dean was asleep on Eileen’s shoulder, and at Dean’s gesture, they all came to join the table. 

“I’ve never seen that knife before,” Cas said, implying a question. 

Pouring four glasses of Macallan, Dean sighed. John had not been an affectionate father. Hell, he’d been downright dictatorial, but that knife had always managed to make Dean feel that he was worth something. “It was in that box on the dresser,” he told Cas. “I haven’t used it in years. It was just… I don’t know. A reminder.” He handed out the glasses. 

Cas leaned into Dean’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Well, what are we drinking to?” Sam asked.

Raising his glass in a toast, Dean began, “Well guys, although it’s been said many times, many ways… Merry Christmas to you.”

Everyone groaned.

Dean just smiled and sipped his whisky.


	4. Poinsettia

Hunters might not get paid for doing their jobs, but it was not uncommon to receive gifts of appreciation. These gifts ranged from invitations to sit down for a home-cooked meal, boxes of snacks and drinks, a good bottle of scotch, gift cards to restaurants… actually, the gifts took the form of food quite often. 

It was curious, this human impulse to show their love by feeding each other. Taking care of each other’s most basic need, giving the blessing of not needing to worry about where the next meal was coming from. 

Though angels did not, as a rule, feel hunger, Castiel understood it intimately. He’d been human quite a few times in the last decade, and he knew the dull ache that could only be filled by sinking his teeth into something delicious. 

Of course, Castiel made a point of breaking heaven’s rules. He never told Dean this, but occasionally he would fly out into a field or forest and let his grace drain into the Earth, depleting his own power so that he could become something close to human. It wasn’t easy to do in winter; someone would probably get suspicious if a grove of trees suddenly sprouted greenery under their blankets of snow, but he made it work. 

Let’s just say that a particular river in Kansas was full of incredibly vigorous fish, and leave it at that.

Draining his power in that way allowed Castiel to experience mortality with Dean. His vessel aged, so subtly that Dean hadn’t even noticed yet, but Cas was determined to grow old with him. They had their eternal youth to look forward to in the afterlife. 

It also allowed him to feel human drives; hunger, thirst, desire, pain. All the risks and rewards of freedom. 

Castiel also felt that taking care of the Earth was a proper angelic duty. He wasn’t interested in being an agent of fate, or a tool in Chuck’s arsenal. But blessing the Earth with life gave him great joy and contentment in his role as an angel. His grace was a gift he could give to wild things. 

So, although Castiel understood humanity’s gift-giving impulse on a personal level, he found it quaint and charming nevertheless. In times of hardship, humans reached out for each other instead of turning away, they gave more generously instead of less. Despite the flaws of their species, Castiel believed they were good at their core. He wasn’t sure he could say the same about angels.

The winter holidays seemed to motivate humans to give more than any other season. Perhaps it was simply the darkness and lack of plant growth in winter that pushed them to share resources, but… they took care of each other.

Cas was, however, sometimes baffled at their choice of gifts. 

One day in late November, he had gone grocery shopping while Dean was at work and had seen rows and rows of tiny replicas of popular fictional characters, stuffed animals in unnatural colors, pink models of kitchens, and even boxes of toys that weren’t assembled yet. How any of these objects helped humans survive winter, Cas didn’t know. 

Musing about the nature of humanity along the ends of the toy aisles, he had walked past a little red creature that started singing at him. He finished his shopping quickly after that. 

Also in November, Cas had received another bewildering gift from a family he had saved from a poltergeist. Dean had been at work again when Cas heard a strange report on the police scanner; officers had responded to a call about a strange man smashing up the neighbor’s house while everyone was out. 

When they had arrived, they found all the doors and windows closed and locked. Inside was indeed smashed up; the dining table was broken down the middle, stuffing was ripped from the couches, glass littered the floor from shattered picture frames and ceramic decorations. There was nobody in the house.

The mom left work right away after the cops notified her, and - Cas perused the subsequent report - she had mentioned instances of paintings falling off the walls, doors slamming, furniture being moved, but nothing close to the destruction of that day. The police had chalked it up to a very clever home invader and told the family to invest in a better security system. 

A security system wouldn’t work against a poltergeist, if indeed that was what the family was dealing with. 

Cas packed a duffle bag with ghost-hunting paraphernalia and teleported to the end of the family’s driveway. The family had been unwilling to trust him at first - apparently, they didn’t appreciate blunt honesty - but when the sun went down and the poltergeist started hurling knives around the kitchen, they welcomed Cas back inside, where he made quick work of the poltergeist. 

As it turned out, they had recently purchased a painting of a sunset from a charity auction. All seemed normal until Cas tore off the paper backing, revealing the signature of the painter; it was not created by some local artist as the family had assumed, but by someone who went down in history as a serial killer. The alizarin crimson was fortified with actual human blood, and the victim had become a restless spirit, tethered to the painting and unable to rest. 

Cas burned the painting and the spirit finally moved on. In their gratitude, the family had insisted he take home the apple pie that had been cooling on the counter and shoved a plant into his hands. Arms full of ghost-hunting equipment and the family’s generous gifts, Cas left, waiting until he reached the cover of shadows before teleporting home. 

The pie was a good gift because it made sense. Food. And a dessert at that, a delectable treat. Dean especially would like it. But the plant?

It had broad red leaves with tiny yellow blooms in the center. The lower leaves were dark green. A poinsettia. 

The Aztecs had cultivated this plant for its usefulness as medication and dye, but surely the family didn’t expect him to use it for those purposes. Of course, Cas knew about its association with Christ. Legend held that an angel encouraged a girl in Mexico to give a gift, no matter how plain, for Christ’s birthday. She gathered a bouquet of roadside weeds, but when she placed them on the altar, they became the blazing red, star-shaped leaves of the poinsettia. 

Cas had no idea which angel had performed that particular miracle, but it sounded on-brand for the heavenly host. Most angels only helped humanity when it served the glory of the Lord. Or maybe Cas was just a cynic. 

Either way, it didn’t explain why the family had given him one. They didn’t know he was an angel, right? The plant symbolized sacrifice, success, happiness, or purity; was it perhaps a wish that he would experience one of these? He’d take success or happiness, but he’d sacrificed far too much already, and he was so far beyond purity that it was almost a joke. 

Dean was already home when Cas, bypassing the struggle of opening the door with his hands full, teleported into the kitchen. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Flinching mightily, Dean nearly flipped the contents of the pan straight onto the floor. He chuckled weakly when he saw who it was. “Jesus Christ, man. Could you try knocking first, or something?”

“My hands were full,” Cas explained, finally setting everything down. He put the pie and the plant on the table and returned the duffle bag back to its place in the basement before returning to Dean. 

The smell that pervaded the house was wonderful; garlic and rosemary under the scent of sizzling steak. Cas’s stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. It was easy for an angel to lose track of such things, but Dean always took care of him. 

“Have a glass of wine,” Dean said, handing him a cab sauv. He leaned his back against the counter, watching Cas and his cooking at the same time. “Tell me about your day, baby.” 

Cas told him about the poltergeist and the gratitude of the family. “I don’t understand why they gave me this plant,” he ended the story, brushing one soft, red leaf between his fingertips. 

“What do you mean? It’s a poinsettia.” 

“Yes. It’s a holy symbol that often represents the crucifixion in the Western, Christian tradition. Why would they want to remind me of that? It was a horrible event, really. A man died.” 

Dean gave him that look, half exasperation, half amusement, that usually meant Cas had failed to understand some social norm. “People always give each other poinsettias around Christmas. It doesn’t really have any deep symbolic meaning these days, it’s just pretty to look at.”

Well, that was certainly true. It was a vibrant little thing, with plush crimson leaves and yellow center, like it was both reaching out for the sun and reflecting it deep within. Cas could feel the life buzzing inside it, drawing water and nutrients from the soil and exhaling oxygen through its broad leaves. 

It was a good gift, he decided with a little smile. 

But that wasn’t the end of it. A few days later - the last day of November - Dean came home from work holding another poinsettia. He told Cas that a client gave it to him after he replaced the thermostat in their car. It was an easy fix, but a necessary one in winter. He set the second poinsettia next to the first and forgot about it.

They received the third poinsettia from Eileen. She said that she and Sam had each gone shopping separately and bought a poinsettia for each other. They didn’t need two, so she thought Dean and Cas might like it. Dean had no choice but to accept the gift; he wasn’t rude. The kitchen table was now the most festive area of the house. 

During the first week of December alone, Cas got two more poinsettias from people who were just so grateful after Cas took care of a mild curse and what turned out to be an electrical malfunction, respectively. Plugging ten strands of Christmas lights into one outlet can blow a fuse as sure as any ghost, even Cas knew that. Regardless, an embarrassed but grateful stay-at-home dad insisted that Cas take a ‘bit of Christmas spirit’ with him. 

Dean and Cas got another poinsettia each after they successfully hunted ghouls in a farming town in Texas. 

Then, Charlie and her girlfriend, Kara visited on the second Saturday in December for an early holiday dinner, bringing a poinsettia as a gift for the hosts. This one had white leaves, and it stood out amongst a sea of red. 

They could no longer use the kitchen table for eating. 

Charlie and Kara were highly amused at this unusual predicament and did not complain when Dean served dinner on the couch in the living room. The next day, before they had to leave to catch their flight out, a pair of evangelizers came knocking, trying to spread the word of God in the Christmas season. Charlie answered the door and laughed in their faces. They couldn’t have picked a worse house than one filled with religiously-traumatized members of the LGBT community, including a rebellious angel who happened to be the new God’s chosen father, who had all worked together to dethrone the old God.

They handed Charlie two poinsettias, urging her to meditate on the crucifixion, before finally going away. 

Later that evening, Kara wished Cas and Dean good luck as new plant parents and they said goodbye at the airport. 

The rate of acquisition seemed to be increasing exponentially. On Monday, Dean got several more poinsettias from work. Cas had things to do downtown, but as he was strolling, he felt the tug of an injured soul in an alley. Something here, something alive, was hurt, but he couldn’t find it at first. There were no animals lurking in the corners, no weeds struggling to survive in a crack. 

He felt a prickle between his shoulder blades and turned around to look at the dumpster near the opening of the alley. There was life in there! He hauled himself over the edge and started digging, sleeves becoming stained and filthy from discarded food residue. Shoveling aside a pile of stale bread, he found it. A poinsettia.

An innocent plant had been crushed under the weight of rotting food and other junk, thrown away as if it too were garbage. But it was clinging to life despite the broken stem and torn leaves. Cas picked it up and cradled it to his chest, repairing it with his grace until the red leaves were once again soft and unbroken. 

How could a person throw away a living thing like that? Castiel carried the plant with him for the rest of the day, finishing his work before bringing it back home to safety. Dean was exasperated and did not understand why Cas had to save the poinsettia, as they had so many at that point that they were taking over the kitchen counters, too.

On Tuesday, Dean went out for drinks with a couple of the mechanics he employed at his shop. While the live band took a break from playing, one of the servers announced a trivia competition. The top prize was a twelver of the pub’s home brew, so Dean and his friends decided to enter. If they won, they could each take home four craft beers, not a bad deal.

They didn’t win. However, they came in at a close second points-wise, so the manager whipped up a consolation prize. She gave them each a poinsettia from the bar’s holiday display. Dean tried to re-gift his immediately, a strategy which backfired spectacularly. One friend had a cat and worried that it would get poisoned by eating the leaves, and his other friend said she was allergic. Dean highly doubted this story, but he ended up going home with three poinsettias, anyway. 

Every morning, Dean made coffee in what now resembled a greenhouse. Poinsettias covered the table and counters, and there were even two on top of the fridge. He opened a cabinet to grab a coffee mug, only to be greeted by another set of juicy red leaves. 

Were they friggin’ breeding?

He took it out of the cabinet and placed it where it would get some sunlight.

Days passed, and more poinsettias appeared as if magnetically attracted to Dean and Cas.

One morning, Dean left for work, and Cas lounged around in the living room. He should look for a case, but it was such a cozy morning. Snow fell softly outside the window and the sounds of the city were muffled. Cas’s plants hummed their subliminal song from the kitchen and the lights of the Christmas tree provided a soft glow. Though he had only just woken up, Cas found himself lulled back to sleep. 

Until a loud ringtone woke him up again. One of Dean’s burner phones was ringing. Cas went upstairs to their bedroom and fished it out of the drawer. 

Cas answered, and listened to the tale of a nurse Dean had helped out long ago with some kind of supernatural problem. She was now convinced that one of her phlebotomists was a vampire. 

After gathering up his gear, Cas teleported to her location and began to investigate. Blood samples taken from patients on her floor were regularly going missing, and in the last few days, patients had complained of strange puncture wounds appearing overnight. People who were already ill or in recovery from surgery were becoming dangerously anemic. 

With Cas’s help, she was able to narrow down the suspect pool to one individual. The blood samples all tended to mysteriously disappear under one person’s watch. This same person was also on shift each night before patients’ ‘unexplainable’ wounds appeared. 

Nurse Lorena drove Cas to her coworker’s house, and they arrived just in time to stop the vampire from exsanguinating a former patient. Apparently, he had copied the patient’s address from their chart, and knowing that they were still in recovery and thus unlikely to put up a fight, he’d kidnapped and attempted to drain the patient of their blood. 

The vampire’s head rolled onto the floor in a spray of blood, fangs still extended. 

Cas and Lorena brought the patient back to the hospital, where they were able to receive medical attention from trustworthy staff who only took blood for legitimate healthcare reasons. Before Cas left, Lorena told him to say hi to Dean and gave Cas a poinsettia from the nurses’ station to show her thanks. 

He teleported home, gave an exasperated Dean a kiss on the cheek, and put his new plant with the others.

Cas secretly liked them. They were so full of life, spirits humming with the simple joy of being a plant with plenty of light, water, and warmth. At night, they were quiet, and Cas liked to sit on the kitchen floor and listen to them breathe. Soft yellow light from the Christmas tree spilled from the living room into the kitchen, and Cas gazed at his flowers with a tranquility he hadn’t felt since he’d first told Dean he loved him. 

He’d lost count of how many poinsettias they had collected. They covered every surface in the kitchen, and the last few had found their places on the coffee table in the living room. Inconvenient, but utterly charming. Cas smiled.

Dean sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulder. “Are you coming to bed, baby? It’s getting late.” 

The clock on the microwave showed 1:31 AM. Cas hadn’t realized how late it was; the vampire hunt had taken longer than he thought. 

His desire to curl up next to Dean conflicted with his fondness for his flowers. It was so peaceful to be surrounded by the warmth of plant life. He rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, indecisive. 

“Cas, I love you, but a man needs his kitchen.” 

Cas grunted. He was not getting rid of any of them. 

“I had an idea.” 

Dean pulled up a picture on his phone, and a slow smile spread across Cas’s face. 

“Think we can do it?” Dean asked. 

In response, Cas kissed him on the cheek, and despite the lateness of the hour, they set to work recreating the picture. With all the spare wood and scrap metal Dean kept in the garage, they built a cone-shaped frame that was almost tall enough to reach the ceiling in the living room. Cas used a bit of angelic mojo to bend steel into loops, attaching them in a circle surrounding the legs of the frame. 

It was nearly five in the morning when they were finished, and Dean finally set the Christmas-tree-shaped frame in the living room, across the room from the real Christmas tree. Cas brought the poinsettias and set them into the loops ringing the frame, building a Christmas tree out of poinsettias from the ground up. 

Dean wrapped himself around Cas’s back and they stood in silence, admiring their work. The poinsettia tree took up a lot of space; they’d had to stick an armchair in the hallway just to make room. But it was gorgeous. Flaming red leaves provided a dense covering of foliage; there was scarcely a gap between individual plants. Every so often, there was a white poinsettia, gleaming like snow amongst the rich red. 

The poinsettia tree and the regular tree stood on each side of the bay window, and outside, moonlight reflected off a blanket of snow. It was cozy, and Christmasy, and most importantly, the poinsettias were finally in an appropriate place. 

When morning came, they would be in a perfect position to soak up the sunlight, but right now they looked velvety and soft, dark leaves resting in the quiet winter night.

“Do you like it?” Dean asked, kissing Cas’s shoulder. 

“I love it.” 

They went to bed then, and Cas drifted to sleep, comforted by the feel of Dean’s body next to his and the silent hum of the poinsettias below. 

It turns out humans are excellent gift-givers, after all.


End file.
